


aussie aussie aussie (oi oi oi)

by polkadot



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Celebratory Sex, Davis Cup, Fingerfucking, Jocks in Love, M/M, Teenage Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Australia fights to stay in the World Group, and Nick and Thanasi try not to get distracted by how hot they are for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aussie aussie aussie (oi oi oi)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the kinkmeme, and because the boys are just too cute.
> 
> This is fiction. If you got here by Googling yourself, I suggest you backbutton now.

“Least pissed plays tomorrow!” Groth shouts, liquid and loud, over the pounding bass beat. Rusty laughs, raising his glass, and Pat shakes his head, grinning. They’ve won the first three rubbers, and no matter what happens in the final rubbers tomorrow, they’re through. They’re staying in the World Group, and everything is great. Better than great.

Thanasi swallows, his eyes caught by the wicked curve of Nick’s mouth, and counts the moments until they can escape.

~

Nick purses his lips in a silent whistle, and Thanasi feels suddenly self-conscious. “That bad?”

“Hmm,” Nick says, noncommittally, and motions for Thanasi to turn around. 

The suit feels a bit like it’s choking him, the trousers especially, but he turns obediently, feeling Nick’s heavy eyes on him the whole time. Too hot, it’s too hot in this hotel room, and he hasn’t even put his jacket on yet. He’s going to suffocate before the dinner even starts.

“Maybe,” Nick says, stepping closer, “this’ll help.”

Nick’s fingers on his collar are deft and sure, and this is _not helping_ the heat in the room. Thanasi licks suddenly dry lips, only to have Nick’s eyes snap to them, even as his fingers pop Thanasi’s collar up into a no-doubt rakishly fashionable look. 

“Yeah?” Nick says, which makes no real sense, but then he’s leaned in, and Thanasi’s okay with things not making complete sense when he’s got Nick’s mouth on his.

There’s hunger in that kiss, something sharp and raw, and Thanasi chases it desperately, pressing in deep and quick; Nick makes a sound in his throat and gets a hand around Thanasi’s back, pulling him in closer, and Thanasi goes willingly, pressing him against the mirror. He can feel its cold chill against the hand he’s slipped behind Nick’s neck.

“Wanna throw you down on that bed and fuck you,” Nick says, more or less coherently, although there are some intakes of breath and bitten words in the middle, because Thanasi isn’t playing around. 

Thanasi can see it – can see them stripping out of their suits, can see pants and jackets and ties thrown haphazardly on the floor on top of gear bags and shoes and half-open suitcases, can see the two of them tumbling together onto the unmade bed, half-laughing, half-wrestling, wholly intent. He’s got lube in one of his suitcase pockets, he knows, though he can’t quite remember which one, not with Nick’s mouth right _there_ …

“After,” he manages, getting his hands between them to push Nick back a few centimeters. 

Nick bites his lip, teeth white against the flushed pink. “After dinner? I can work with that.”

“After we get back in the World Group,” Thanasi says, finding stubbornness he didn’t know he had, somewhere deep inside. “We win the tie, you can fuck me as long as you want.”

He wants to stay in the World Group. Rusty won’t play for that much longer, and then it’ll be his and Nick’s team, for years and years. (And maybe Bernie, but really, double hip surgery at age 21 isn’t a great sign for longevity.) His and Nick’s, and yes, they’re still young, and yes, they’re green, especially him, but they’re superstars, they can do this, together.

“Oh,” Nick says, managing to pack a lot of dirty promise into one word. Well, one word and an eyebrow. 

Thanasi’s trousers are really too tight now.

Which, of course, means that Nick seizes the moment to pick up his phone and snap a picture of the two of them, while Thanasi is desperately trying to look cool and calm and not at all like he’s struggling with a trouser situation. His shirt is horrifically wrinkled, but he can’t really help that, not after Nick’s hands have been all over him.

“Got both your front and back,” Nick says, looking his particular blend of cocky and satisfied. Thanasi leans in to do some shirt-wrinkling of his own.

~

“You nervous?” Groth asks, as they settle into their courtside seats, under the hot Perth sun.

Istomin is Uzbekistan’s #1, and he’s nine years older than Nick, a seasoned pro and veteran of more than 20 ties. He’s got something like a 22-9 record in singles rubbers – Thanasi looked it up last night. And Nick lost both of his singles rubbers against France (though it isn’t fair to blame Nick, not when he had to play Gasquet and Monfils in France, on clay, and not when they lost 5-0 anyway). 

But this isn’t France, and it isn’t clay, and Thanasi’s got a very good feeling about today.

“No,” he says.

“Good,” Groth says, and paints his face with sunscreen, which Thanasi endures stoically.

Nick loses his stoic match face for a moment when he sees Thanasi’s warpaint. Thanasi grins at him, unsure whether the feeling in the pit of his stomach is excitement or something softer, and laughs aloud when Nick shakes his head dubiously.

Nick wins in straights to give them the first rubber, 6-4 7-5 6-4. Thanasi isn’t surprised.

~

Rusty takes his rubber in straights too, and they arrive for Day 2 in a position to clinch with the doubles rubber. Nick’s not playing – Rusty & Gucc will handle dubs – so they head over to sign some autographs for a line of kids.

It’s kinda hard to sign autographs and be an upstanding citizen when your boyfriend is right next to you, sleepy-eyed and unreasonably hot (and entirely aware of it). Thanasi resolutely gets on with things, smiling for photos and scrawling his name across flags and tennis balls and more than a couple hats. He can be a good guy.

His saintliness comes undone when a photographer goes to take their picture, and Nick plasters himself along Thanasi’s back, long and warm and making Thanasi’s head swim. They didn’t fool around last night, despite wanting to, because both of them are far too stubborn for their own good, and they said “after we make World Group”, so. 

Thanasi’s beginning to regret that decision now, as he smiles fixedly for the camera and tries to ignore 193cm of boyfriend pressed against his back, as well as the fingers Nick throws up gangsta-style. By the time his teenage mind helpfully supplies exactly what Nick could do with those fingers, he’s gone. Within five minutes he’s dragged Nick off to the locker room and had a clandestine, far-too-short makeout session.

Nick looks just as hot but slightly less sleepy by the time they get out courtside, where Pat looks at them with far too much knowing exasperation.

~

It’s just a good, good day – a perfect day for tennis – and Rusty & Gucc are up two sets to love and closing fast. Thanasi’s happy in that fizzy joyful way that runs through your veins and leaves you slightly breathless, and it’s mostly because of tennis and only a little bit because Nick’s sitting next to him with a nonchalant hand resting casually on his leg.

“Hey,” Nick says in his ear, under cover of some raucous applause for a particularly nice shot of Rusty’s, “looking forward to tonight.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Thanasi hisses back. He doesn’t really believe in jinxes, certainly not on a charmed weekend like this one, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Nick’s mouth moves even closer to his ear. Thanasi can feel his breath. “I’m going to strip the clothes off you, really fucking slowly, pin your hands up above your head so all you can do is feel…”

Rusty & Gucc win the game, and Thanasi applauds them like a robot, mindwheels spinning frantically.

Pat’s glaring at them again. Nick puts his hands up – what? me? I’m an angel, Pat, a perfect angelic angel – and Thanasi finds himself breaking out into an almost maniacal grin, so happy and free.

“What’s so funny?” Nick asks, slinging an arm around Thanasi’s shoulders (and incidentally cuddling up closer), but he’s already laughing too, catching Thanasi’s mood and reflecting it back, two talented teenagers watching a tennis match together, laughing in the Australian sun.

“Promises, promises,” Thanasi says, when he gets his voice back, and watches Nick’s eyes spark.

~

“Least pissed plays tomorrow!” Groth shouts, liquid and loud, over the pounding bass beat. Rusty laughs, raising his glass, and Pat shakes his head, grinning. They’ve won the first three rubbers, and no matter what happens in the final rubbers tomorrow, they’re through. They’re staying in the World Group, and everything is great. Better than great.

Thanasi swallows, his eyes caught by the wicked curve of Nick’s mouth, and counts the moments until they can escape.

Nick glances up from his phone to see him looking, and his grin is partly tipsy, partly cocky, and a whole lot of searing. He runs a finger over Thanasi’s wrist, making him shiver, and leans in close. “Wanna get out of here?”

They shouldn’t leave this early. They should stay, keep celebrating with the guys, show Pat that they’re team players. “Half an hour,” Thanasi says, though he’s pretty sure his dick just started swearing at him in a dozen languages.

They last twenty minutes before Pat says, “You’re playing tomorrow, Kyrgios, go get some sleep.”

Sleep is the last thing on their minds, and Thanasi’s pretty sure Pat knows it, but they’re out of there in almost unseemly haste, draining their glasses and saying goodnight to the guys, clapping Rusty & Gucc on the shoulders again to compliment them on the dubs win and telling Groth to slow down on the beer before he has to be brought on court in a wheelchair.

Then they’re in the elevator, at long fucking last, and they’ve got their hands on each other the instant the door closes.

~

“ _Nick_ ,” Thanasi says, the word half imprecation, half prayer.

Their room is a teenage wasteland of gear bags, dirty socks, and half-open suitcases, but Thanasi only has eyes for Nick, looming above him like a bronze Greek god, or an Olympian of centuries past. He runs his hand along Nick’s bicep, feeling the wet sheen of the sweat there, and hooks his heels behind Nick’s back, pulling him down.

“Eager?” Nick says, against his jaw, biting at the skin there. He’ll be careful not to leave a mark, at least not where it can be seen; Thanasi’s had more than one lovebite on the inside of his hip, hidden by shorts on court but there to press fingers against and shiver on nights when they’re apart.

“Shut up and get your shorts off,” Thanasi says, kicking at the offending article of clothing, digging his toes into Nick’s side and laughing at Nick’s glare. He’s ticklish, though he doesn’t like to be reminded, and the shorts come off with more haste than finesse, Nick scrambling away from Thanasi’s feet.

When he comes back, he’s holding the lube. There’s something shy in his eyes, but something fierce too, and Thanasi thrills to it, licking suddenly dry lips. “Now who’s eager?”

Nick flushes, but doesn’t look daunted. “Think I promised you something. Put your hands above your head.”

Thanasi looks him up and down, letting his glance drag heavily. “Make me.”

There’s something glorious about play-wrestling after a day like today, the hot joy of the afternoon surging through their veins like wildfire, their bodies sliding together like they were meant to be, hopeless tangle and matched puzzle pieces all at once. Nick gets Thanasi’s wrists, and Thanasi uses his heels to pull Nick’s pelvis down onto his, making Nick shudder and almost – almost! – loose his grip. But Thanasi’s dick is a traitor, and the friction distracts him as much as it does Nick. He arches into the contact, guttural sound forced out of his lungs, and Nick pins his wrists above his head with a shout of laughing victory.

“Keep them there,” Nick says, folding Thanasi’s fingers around the rungs of the headboard. “Or I’ll get my tie.”

Another time, Thanasi thinks having his wrists tied to the headboard might be a fun thing. This time, though, he can’t bear to have Nick get up to go find his suit, so he just swallows and nods, watching Nick’s mouth go tight.

“Gonna make you beg,” Nick says, sliding down Thanasi’s body, twisting a nipple on his way down, making Thanasi arch up again, helplessly. He wants – he doesn’t know what he wants. He wants Nick’s fingers, as firm and sure as a capable drop volley; he wants Nick’s mouth, as hot as the Australian summer sun; he wants Nick’s dick, as pounding as running all-out on hard court, as overwhelming as the full-throat roar of an Australian crowd shaking Rod Laver Arena, as bone-deep satisfying as lifting a trophy above your head.

He doesn’t think he’s going to last long enough to beg.

Nick pushes at his knees, easy and sure, and Thanasi lets his legs fall apart, shameless. Capable fingers trail down the inside of his thighs, carefully avoiding where Thanasi wants them most, stroking the swell of his ass for a moment and then slipping in, stroking lightly over his hole.

“Fuck,” Thanasi says, eloquently, and Nick grins, all teeth and twinkle.

“Turn over,” Nick commands, slapping Thanasi’s thigh cheerfully. “But don’t let go of that headboard.”

Thanasi obeys with almost indecent haste, flipping over and grabbing the headboard again, grinding his ignored dick down into the bed before Nick catches on and yanks his hips up again. “Nope, uh-uh.” He punctuates the denial with a couple hard smacks to Thanasi’s ass, and Thanasi groans. Sometime they should do more of that, but not now, not when all he wants is to get off _now_ , now now now.

Nick digs his fingers into the meat of Thanasi’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart, and Thanasi hides a blush in a pillow. He doesn’t know if Nick sees, but a moment later Nick says, “I should get my phone and take a picture. You look…”

“How do I look?” Thanasi manages, still blushing, when Nick trails off.

“You look amazing,” Nick says, and without warning there’s suddenly a tongue on Thanasi’s hole, and Thanasi hadn’t thought he could get that much harder that quickly, but yeah, he was wrong about that.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he half-shouts, as Nick licks with the single-minded abandon he brings to things.

Nick pulls back. “You wanna get Pat in here?”

There are few things Thanasi wants less than Pat Rafter walking in on him spread out on a bed with Nick’s face up his ass. “I can’t be quiet when you’re doing that!”

“How about this?” Nick asks, and there’s a snick of the lube cap, and Thanasi bites the pillow, already anticipating what comes next.

When Nick’s fingertip presses inside him, Thanasi grunts, deep and low. There’s no slow carefulness about Nick fingering him, not anymore. They’ve done this so many times now - Nick knows just how much Thanasi can take, and Thanasi’s made sure he also knows just how hard he’ll get kicked if he dawdles about too long. 

“God,” Thanasi says, hardly aware of the word, just having to say something, anything, as Nick fingerfucks him, giving him long hard perfect strokes, his other hand rubbing maddeningly slow circles on Thanasi’s left hip.

“Just Nick is fine,” Nick says, and adds a second finger.

“Shuddup, ya mug,” Thanasi says – or tries to say; it comes out all in a muddle.

He can’t see Nick’s grin, but he can feel it in the air. The fingers in his ass aren’t enough, suddenly. He pushes back, trying to get them deeper, wanting more than anything to reach down and fist his dick, but he can’t, because Nick said to keep his hands on the headboard, fuck…

Nick pops his fingers out, the sound filthy and thrilling, then pushes three fingers back in. The stretch is perfect, and Thanasi gasps, his lungs flooding with air. “Like that?” Nick asks, and fucks him, slow at first, then harder, fast and sure and right, just so right.

“Come on,” Thanasi says, when he gets his breath back. “Come on, what are you waiting for, fuck me already.”

“You look good on my fingers,” Nick says, his own voice ragged now, his right hand never stopping, his left hand keeping Thanasi spread wide. “So fucking good, just taking it, riding my fingers, bet I could get my whole hand up you…”

“Get your _dick_ up me,” Thanasi says, strung out too far for niceties, and clenches down around Nick’s fingers.

Nick swears, and pulls his fingers out once Thanasi lets him go. “Fine, fine, fuck, fine.” 

Thanasi hears the rip of the condom wrapper, and then the sound of Nick scrabbling in the sheets for the lube bottle. He shivers in anticipation, flexes his fingers, and renews his grip on the headboard.

Then Nick’s hand is on his ass again, and Nick’s dick is pressing against his hole, thick and heavy. “This what you want?” Nick asks, roughly, stroking his hand over Thanasi’s back.

“I swear,” Thanasi says, “if you don’t start fucking me in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna get a tennis racquet and _spank_ you with it…nggggggggh.”

“Won’t be necessary,” Nick says, and sets to in earnest.

Thanasi closes his eyes, grins into his pillow, and hangs on for the ride.

~

“So,” Nick says, some time later, “how’s your Davis Cup been?”

Thanasi smiles through a yawn. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Nick asks, in mock outrage.

“Not bad at all,” Thanasi amends, and reaches over to flip off their bedside lamp.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
